


Promised Land

by tjstar



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Character Death, Ghosts, Head Injury, Horror, M/M, No Strings Attached, References to Depression, Ruby songfic, Stillbirth, Supernatural Elements, Symbolism, Tinder, Twins, ghostly voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-05 20:11:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16374272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tjstar/pseuds/tjstar
Summary: And Tyler says —“She’s here.”“No, son, she isn’t. It’s just your imagination,” his father rubs his shoulder. “Your twin sister was born dead.”Death isn’t poetic.Death isn’t about a gothic culture and withered flowers — it’s only about motionless and maimed animals by the roadsides, it’s about the smell of a cemetery. Tyler feels this certain smell way too often.





	Promised Land

_Ruby, I hope I see you_

She’s always been there. Everywhere, in fact; in lonely raindrops on the front porch, in a muddy shape on the bottom of a coffee cup — Tyler has always hated coffee. She’s always been beside him, ghostly touches and slight midnight whisperings coming from upper branches of the trees — he’s been coming to a forest since he turned five, step by step just to see her, just to hear her saying a meek _hello_ as a response to his greeting.

He’s five when he plays with a cute girl in the backyard, he’s five when he finds out that the girl _isn’t real_. He’s six when his parents tell him about _Ruby_.

It’s a tough conversation for Tyler’s soft heart; his mother is crying and his father’s lips are pressed tightly to control the wobbling.

“Tyler,” his mother says. “You weren’t supposed to know.”

Tyler feels guilty, he sees _that girl_ in a mirror-covered door of a cupboard behind his mother’s back.

And Tyler says —

“She’s here.”

“No, son, she isn’t. It’s just your imagination,” his father rubs his shoulder. “Your twin sister was born dead.”

Death isn’t poetic.

Death isn’t about a gothic culture and withered flowers — it’s only about motionless and maimed animals by the roadsides, it’s about the smell of a cemetery. Tyler feels this certain smell way too often.

And he sees _her_ again, same nose, same eyes and long eyelashes, lush lips and a messy brown hair — Ruby’s smiling at him and waving her hand, then blowing him a kiss.

Tyler’s father is unaware.

“You don’t have to scare your siblings, talk to us about your _nightmares_ if you need to.”

She has a name which means she has a soul; she’s not a dead infant.

Tyler looks at the stains on the carpet. Cold air blows over the back of Tyler’s neck, he struggles not to turn his head and see his _twin_ again. He’s just a little boy who wasn’t ready to discover stillbirth existence. He’s a newborn killer; his Birthday is also a funeral, he wants to cry, but he can’t show his weakness.

“Is she an angel?”

His mother clutches a teaspoon in her hand.

“Yes, Tyler, she is.”

 

***

Tyler is good at keeping secrets.

Tyler is good at not looking into the mirror for so long as his mind begins to play gross tricks on him — his hallucination is growing up along with him, Ruby is always lurking around the corners and waiting for an appropriate time to pop up.

Tyler sucks a breath and swipes the condensate away from the mirror, ignoring a palm print appearing on it, trickling down. Smeared at the edges, this palm is smaller than his own, and he ignores that too.

Ruby has always been there, yet quiet.

But that’s when Tyler hears a vibrant  _‘shada de da dum’_ for the first time. He stumbles and his razor drags against his chin heavily, scrubbing off his stubble along with a layer of skin underneath. _Ruby-red_ drops swirl in the drain like a bloody rain and Tyler grips at the edges of the sink, caught by this hurricane.

_‘Shada de da dum.’_

Ruby’s voice rings like a silver bell that turns to a tocsin.

For Tyler, she used to be speechless.

There’s the downpour outside, the water hits the rooftop and Tyler’s blood hits his chest.

 _Shada de da dum, dum, dum, dum —_ one droplet at a second.

The floor is cold under Tyler’s bare feet, the pipe is leaking and spitting water on Tyler’s toes; this makes him sober up instantly, he totters away from a bloodied sink as his brain falls into vacuum.

There’s no singing in his ears, the only melody he recognizes is a staccato of rain.

_Dum, dum, dum._

 

***

Here he is, having nothing yet aspiring for nothing.

Here he is, as useless as a dusty piano in the corner of his bedroom.

He’s still shaken by the fact he’s just gotten automatically fired because the office he’s been working in has set itself on fire a few hours ago — they’re talking about it in the news. They’re talking about it, it’s a _tragedy_ , people have been killed just because Tyler’s workplace wasn’t built in accordance with the safety standards. Tyler’s phone is blown up as his family keeps calling him; he’s so busy answering their endless calls and messages he doesn’t hear the words being kept on repeat.

_Twelve victims._

Twelve, Tyler should’ve been the thirteenth but he called in sick this morning; he was blaming it on yesterday pizza with tomatoes, and his system was so rebellious against any kind of jarring he decided to take a non-scheduled day off.

It has saved his life.

He couldn’t leave the bathroom until noon, then falling asleep next to the toilet and waking up to a call and his sister’s sobbing.

“I thought you were dead, Tyler!”

Tyler nods, numb and empty, inside and out. The taste and odor of a burnt flesh attacks his receptors. This is the real reason of Tyler’s poisoning, he can’t keep it down.

He’s sure he sees one more reflection in the tile underneath him.

 

***

Months keep dragging by and Tyler gets stuck on a dead point in his life. Well, if constant ‘get a job-girlfriend-wife-pull-yourself-together’ might be considered as a life. Tyler is handling it. He keeps his mask of neutrality on until his family members start sending him those ‘stay alive’ articles and vaguely hinting that suicide is not a good way to solve his problems.

“Why do you think I’m gonna kill myself, Dad?”

There’s nothing satisfying in being straightforward.

Tyler doesn’t get a coherent answer.

They’re not talking about this anymore; at least, Tyler doesn’t participate.

Tyler wants to tell their Dad he’s sorry for being stronger than his twin, being fifteen minutes older and leaving her with no chance to survive — the older he gets the more he learns about his case — his sister’s heart stopped beating on her Birthday, on _their_ Birthday.

But she’s a part of him anyway.

Tyler isn’t moving forward, but he wants to do it so badly; he buys a mustard hoodie and downloads Tinder. He wants to take a break from those motivating posts on the internet that demotivate him.

 

***

Waking up in a bed with a guy he’s accidentally swiped right on Tinder is weird.

“My life’s a mess,” Tyler yawns.

The windows are crying, and _Josh_ is wearing nothing but his shorts while Tyler is sitting on the bed with all the pillows bunched up behind his back. He’s got a job even though his parents are still saying it’s not the one that pays the bills and Tyler is gonna have to sell his piano pretty soon. But he’s not listening to them, getting ready to draw an illustration for an article about a haunted house in England.

He’s not getting too much work recently.

But he’s got Josh.

Josh is a drummer, a very lonely one, and his gingery-reddish hair is decorating Tyler’s grey days; this morning is not very different from all of the mornings he’s witnessed this week, this month, this year. There’s no sun, just a hologram peeking through a heavy weight in the sky.

“I think I’m not going on tour,” Josh turns away from the window. “I’m not even sure if the band’s going either.”

He sighs, the window frame keeps leaking, small puddles gather on the windowsill.

“Why?”

“Their bass-player is going to quit.”

Tyler knows how much it pisses Josh off; he hates it when his own plans get ruined — and they get ruined almost every time he finds courage to plan something up.

“Sucks.”

A pen keeps falling out of Tyler’s slack fingers as he keeps working on a concept art for a future illustration — he wants it to catch up with the article’s meaning, but his mind travels to different realms. It’s not a digital picture; it’s a simple pencil sketch though he’s usually using his Wacom. Tyler is drawing a self-portrait — a skeleton with glowing eyes wandering a deserted street, he’s just a hanger for his hoodie and his pants; the gaps between his bones are too wide to keep his soul inside.

“Sucks.”

Josh’s silhouette doesn’t have a face as a dirty sun tries to shine in an unwashed welkin.

“There were the times when I nearly died, you know,” Tyler keeps scribbling, doodling a _D_ then crossing it out.

Josh’s question gets lost in the rain.

“How did it happen?”

“I was walking past the skyscraper and stepped on a dog’s shit,” Tyler chuckles. “I thought it’d describe my whole day, but while I was cleaning the sole of my shoe up, a huge concrete slab fell down right onto the spot I was supposed to cross. That dog saved my life, I think.”

As he speaks, he draws a letter _E_ , putting it into a circle.

“You’ve got a good guardian angel.”

Josh sits down, and Tyler’s getting a hand tremor as he writes an _A_.

“So pessimistic.”

It’s not a verdict.

A letter _T_ looks like two crossed knives.

Tyler doesn’t want to get up from the bed when it rains this hard — it usually starts with a slight drizzle that quickly turns to a full-blown storm. Tyler needs to re-read the article once again while Josh connects his earbuds to his phone to listen to a new material of the band he’s been working with for the past few weeks.

A letter _H_ is just an outline.

Tyler shudders at the thunder strikes in and throws a crumpled picture into a trash can.

 

***

Tyler has managed to switch between three or four perspectiveless jobs, he’s participated in a few family scandals. He starts getting vivid nightmares about thrashing in his mother’s womb along with Ruby who is tying a noose around his neck; that noose is actually an umbilical cord, Tyler tries to chew it away with his toothless gums but ends up choking.

Tyler wakes up with a corner of his pillow shoved into his mouth and with a _shada de da dum_ ringing in his ears. Josh is still sleeping, snorting steadily while Tyler swings his legs over the side of his bed and plods to the kitchen to get a glass of water.

Josh shouldn’t have stayed there for a night.

It’s not Tyler’s thought; this one is just inserted into his brain.

He’s careful like an animal that’s getting chased by a hunter; he walks past the window that is always getting opened, surrendering to the storm. Tyler pushes it, closing it and seeing a glimpse of an image in the glass.

“You’re a Queen of your homeland,” Tyler says. “Won’t you tell us of the clouds?”

Tyler only sees his own stupid smile in the reflection.

 

***

Good news come suddenly; Maddy’s engagement and an invitation to a family dinner dedicated to this event make Tyler’s mood jump from zero to ten within a second.

“I can’t believe. Even though I knew that was coming.”

Tyler takes his anxiety pills and says a quick goodbye to Josh before running to a wardrobe to find his white shirt wrinkled, then iron it and then notice that it’s the first day this week when the rain doesn’t drown the ground in sludge. They’re gonna go to a restaurant, and Maddy’s Instagram post is liked by all the Josephs and her friends, and their brother’s comment reads _‘hope tyler will catch the wedding bouquet.’_

Tyler is sure they’re gonna celebrate Zack’s wedding next year.

Tyler’s heart keeps beating in his chest, because Josh isn’t staying at his place tonight, but Tyler needs a company and maybe a good sex to relax and ease his uncontrollable ticking and twitching. But he doesn’t want to interrupt Josh’s band practice since he has his own things to do. Tyler doesn’t notice how he consumes one more pill before dragging his body to a bedroom.

“Wow,” Tyler mewls and turns his face into the pillow.

He’s sure a Devil’s hand pushes a bottle of tequila into his own.

The sleep doesn’t come, alcohol blurs his mind; Tyler is sure he doesn’t even have time to close his eyes when he’s getting shaken violently then getting yelled at.

“Wake up!”

Tyler hears the weather go bad, he can see the fog outside of the window as he opens his eyes. Then he looks down; there’s an empty bottle of pills beside his bed, he sees his father’s hands, fingers snap in front of his nose.

“Kelly, Kelly, he’s _overdosed_ , oh God!”

There’s too much rumbling; Tyler heaves himself up on his elbows and shakes his head to make the haze dissipate. His parents are both here, both wearing their best clothing.

“Shit,” Tyler’s mouth is dry, speaking hurts. “I’m so sorry.”

It’s hard to recognize the day or the time — the only thing that is clear now is that Tyler is _too damn late_ for his sister’s engagement party. He’s just overslept, but everyone has probably thought he’s committed suicide.

“We’ve been waiting for you for hours but you never picked up your phone.”

His mother purses her lips. There’s a pearl necklace on her neck, her black dress with open shoulders makes her look way too strictly.

“Maddy started crying and Will couldn’t comfort her, neither of us could, actually.”

Tyler rubs his eyes and looks at his pills again. He’s still drunk.

“Can we like… go to them now?”

“No,” his father says. “I just need to call Maddy.”

And so he does, and Tyler can hear her weep; it’s not raining at the moment, but Maddy’s tears are like a cloudburst.

“He’s relapsed.”

And Tyler would bury himself alive to never hear this _ever_ again.

 

***

The party is ruined, but they’re having a family dinner next day.

Tyler is sure his parents are going to control his intake of meds from now on; his mother’s mascara is smeared again. Tyler is met by more smeared mascara when they arrive to their house and his sister hangs on his neck, suffocating him while her fiancé stares at them with an unreadable facial expression. Everyone pretends that nothing has happened, but when they’re alone on the veranda, Will smokes a cigarette and says —

“Thanks for ruining _my_ engagement, jerk.”

Tyler wants to punch him, but instead he just turns away and joins the others in the living room.

His smile turns to a grin when the rain starts dripping again.

 

***

Grandpa Joseph passes away in his sleep.

Neither of them expects it, except Tyler maybe — he’s seen those terrible dreams about being trapped in a tight room along with his twin, he’s seen a row of coffins. And neither of them could call an ambulance because cardiac arrests never give enough time. And there’s another family meeting, all of them are dressed in black, even _Josh_ — Tyler’s relatives know about Josh now, Josh is a _friend_ and Tyler is keeping a dirty secret. Their relationship is something he’d never prefer to talk about with his parents; going to a funeral with a guy who bends you over the table and fucks you until you’re about to pass out is a _sinful_ thing.

“He was a legend, I’m sure,” is all Josh says as he shakes hands with Tyler’s father. If Josh says one more word, they’re gonna have to need one more coffin, either for Josh or for Tyler. He gets this vibe.

“Good bye, my middle name,” is all he can manage.

They’re standing around the grave, the coffin is inside already, and Tyler’s heart keeps screaming that this is just the beginning and no one knows how to break the chain of unlucky events. Tyler sees _her_ past the trees — a black dress, dark hair swaying in front of her face as she lowers her head. Tyler shifts from one foot to another while the pastor reads the speech, and his father wipes the corners of his eyes with a tissue. Tyler wants to run to her and ask her if she’s here to _save_ him, but his feet are too heavy, as if the soil is trying to suck them in.

His mother’s face is covered with a black veil, she grips at his father’s elbow; Maddy is crying on Will’s chest, Zack and Jay are swallowing their sobs.

Tyler feels like he might swoon, leaning on Josh who seems to feel out of place.

The rain washes away their tears.

 

***

Tyler’s career goes downhill along with Josh’s — Tyler can’t sell his art and Josh gets kicked out of the band, failing a rehearsal after rehearsal, the bands are either falling apart like houses of cards or going on hiatuses.

“That bitch has just ignored me when I asked her why she doesn’t want to use my illustrations for her project; she said she needed some extremely dark content, but my pics didn’t match her aesthetics. And then boom — I’m blocked,” Tyler squints his eyes at the screen while Josh is listening to him, propping his head up with his hand.

“Yeah. I feel it man, some of the bands don’t want to collaborate with me because I’m _too energetic_ ,” he makes air quotes as he says so.

Tyler looks at the sketches scattered across the table.

“Together we’re losers.”

“What are you wearing?”

“What?”

“I don’t see you, get up,” Josh laughs. “Come on.”

Tyler tugs his hoodie down.

“Dude. No.”

Josh looks around his dark room.

“Dude, yes.”

Tyler gets the hint and gets up; Josh leans closer, falling to pixels for a moment.

“Take your joggers off.”

The rain drumming against the rooftop makes Tyler tremble. He unties his pants and sits down to take them off then showing them to the webcam and tossing them away. After these FaceTime conversations, he’s gonna have to deal with the aftermath in the shower.

On the screen, Josh applauses.

“Send nudes, dude.”

Tyler shows him a middle finger and Josh slaps his hand against the table.

“I’m serious, come on, I can send something to you, too.”

“No,” Tyler closes his laptop shut.

If they’re fucking, it doesn’t mean that these games wouldn’t make him feel uncomfortable and insecure. There are shivers running up and down his thighs, Tyler rubs them, scrubbing tiny hair there. The mirror is like a magnet — Tyler checks himself out.

Well, there’s something he’d share with Josh.

 _One_ picture won’t bite through his dignity. Tyler sighs and takes his phone, palming his crotch and at the same time opening the camera. Josh is going to drool all over his device, Tyler is sure — he’s not taking his boxers off, just teasing and teasing and gripping at his dick for Josh to spot the outlines of a wet tip. An elastic waistband of Tyler’s underwear is a little ripped off, bare skin peeks out.

“What a bummer.”

Tyler turns around and tries to picture his ass in the reflection and then maybe make a sick collage; he’s interrupted by the lightning crossing the sky. It flares for a second before dying along with the ceiling lamp in Tyler’s bedroom.

“Great.”

Tyler groans, falling onto the bed and splaying his legs out in darkness to get rid of an annoying boner. His hand sneaks into his underwear, warm and damp; he opens a chat with Josh and sends him the photos he’s just taken. He gets an immediate response.

 **Josh:** _Nice_

 **Tyler:** _that’s all you can say?_

 **Josh:** _Youre good at using photoshop dude_

 **Tyler:** _that’s MY dick are you blind??_

 **Josh:** _There’s somebody behind you_

And Josh sends back a picture of Tyler and his copy in the mirror, a bit edited to make it brighter and with a red circle around _the right_ area. There’s a figure right behind him, grey and vague but Tyler can still recognize a crimson gleaming of its eyes. The lights are still out, and Tyler hears the footsteps and a muffled giggling coming from a narrow hallway.

 **Tyler:** _i think im not alone_

Tyler turns the flashlight on his phone on and roams his house, making the shadows shrink then grow longer as he aims the ray of light for his invisible pursuer.

“Who’s there?”

The wind brushes over Tyler’s body, making a low _shada de da dum_ get lost in an opened window. The water flows down the frame, down the moist windowsills; Tyler’s hands are shaking as he closes the gap, the glass only creates an illusion of security.

 **Josh:** _I can come over. Do you need it?_

Tyler ignores the notification, blocking the screen again and closing his ears with his hands as everything in the room screams at him, the shadows are too fast for Tyler’s slow eyes, he spins like a merry-go-round but they’re jeering at him, they’re all around. Tyler can’t get out of this cycle. Tyler’s mind shatters, he trips over an invisible thread crossing the room like a crime scene tape — he falls, his ass and the small of his back get cracked against the floor. Tyler throws his arm over his eyes when the bulbs above him begin to shine again, causing a headache, torturing him.

A single whimper hurts Tyler’s bones.

He pulls his phone out of the pocket of his hoodie; he can hardly see the letters he’s typing.

 **Tyler:** _nah im fine_

 

***

“This punk’s dragging you down.”

This is all Tyler hears, over and over again during phone conversations with his mother.

“He’s my friend.”

“He’s a bad influence.”

Even after all of those years Tyler has been living alone — in isolation, she says — she still have these rights. She’s scolding him, and Tyler’s head hurts.

“I’m not gonna stop hanging out with Josh, Mom.”

They’re not drinking, not smoking the weed. They’re just getting off and relishing a few more nights together.

“Think twice before trusting him, Tyler.”

Tyler thinks twice before trusting himself.

His mother hangs up, he feels terrible talking about Josh when Josh is sitting on his still unmade bed.

“Well,” he says. “I suppose, she doesn’t know.”

They’re spending more time together after Tyler’s _nudes_ experiment. Not because Tyler is scared, no. Josh just says he wants to support him, but he’s going to join a band in a few days. Tyler feels lonely in advance; Josh opens his laptop and leans back onto the pillows, and Tyler thinks that shadow people are real. He sees them, it, whatever — his peripheral vision never lies.

Tyler is doing the dishes, it’s his turn; he’s scrubbing leftover pasta and sauce out of them, a kitchen sink is filled with water. And Tyler takes the plates; he puts them onto the shelf, shaking the water off his hands. He wants to go back to bed, he wants to lie there with Josh by his side, he craves for warmth.

It’s been raining all this week, raining hard.

When Tyler tries to take a step, he fails. Then, he fails again as his feet slide against the floor and he’s getting pushed back to the sink — he hasn’t taken the plug out, he inhales the water before emerging and not quite proceeding why he’s trying to drown himself.

“J-josh!”

Tyler doesn’t scream, his words turn to bubbles as his head hits the water again. Tyler struggles, but he’s caught in a cold embrace of his invisible attacker, he’s choking as the water flows down and down and down. Tyler sees a smudge, cold fingers squeeze the back of his neck as he props himself up to hold his head above the water.

He hears this eerie singing, _shada de da dum_ , like a broken record, words echoing in his ears as his head gets smashed against the edge of the sink. Tyler’s arms bend and so do his knees, he’s getting punched again, dragged up as he falls, and transparent puddles on the floor turn to red.

“J-osh…”

Tyler wheezes, unable to be coherent.

A bloodied side of the sink is looming in front of him again, there’s the waterfall and Tyler is freezing; he can’t force himself to fight, he doesn’t see anyone or anything as the blood obstructs his vision. But he can still feel a hand grabbing at his hair and slamming him against the sink again. The firework explodes and Tyler clings to the last thread of his consciousness.

He falls, face first, letting the puddle underneath his busted head grow bigger. His skull feels like a cracked egg. Weakness is his everything, he’s cold and wet, and even the walls are stained with thick smears of blood.

“Tyler?”

He’s underwater, even though the water is as shallow as his breathing.

“Tyler, stay with me, I’m calling the ambulance.”

And Josh keeps bustling around, he finds a towel and his phone.

And Tyler closes his eyes, he doesn’t care.

 

***

“Do you remember what happened, Mr. Joseph?”

“I fell,” Tyler says.

Inside, he’s still falling.

Tyler doesn’t remember getting undressed, but his clothes are thrown over the back of a plastic chair, replaced with a hospital gown.

“Have you ever experienced something like this before?”

These questions are just psychological tests. And Tyler doesn’t pass them, averting his eyes and glancing at his hoodie — its yellow color actually looks like bile, his own bile with bloody streaks. The blood is always here, inside of him, outside, and Josh’s colorless lips are quivering.

“You don’t have to cover up anyone, Mr. Joseph.”

Tyler’s left eyebrow is a patchwork; a half of his forehead is a painful swell. It’s pulsing, inside and out, the bruise will be so hard to heal. Josh keeps holding his hands between his knees, his whole frame is shaking.

“I fell.”

Tyler is stubborn; he’s good at handling the Doctor’s death glare.

“You couldn’t get these injuries on your own, it’s obvious. You’ve been hit repeatedly, with a force, and you know it. And I know it, and _he_ knows,” the Doctor turns to Josh. “Do you want to say anything?”

“I didn’t do that, if you’re trying to blame me,” Josh responds. He’s as white as the walls in the hospital office, his hair is just a rust on his head.

Almost like Tyler’s blood.

Tyler is cold, his bones are made of ice and his phone is going crazy with the sound turned off — his mother’s calling, she’s been calling for a half an hour, and he hasn’t answered yet.

“Domestic abuse is a serious problem,” the Doctor continues.

Tyler turns a deaf ear to his words.

 

***

Tyler’s bloated head feels like a huge hematoma, daily and nightly, every hour, every minute. It doesn’t stop hurting for a moment, it never leaves him alone along with a pesky _shada de da dum_ that makes him dust off his beaten piano and find a melody, to create a song even. Tyler isn’t sure if he likes this one; his mother painted a half of  _their_ room pink before  _they_ were born. That half was supposed to belong to Ruby; it wasn’t Tyler’s fault that he decided to meet the world first.

“Tell our Dad I’m sorry,” Tyler whispers.

His head aches as he whispers, his words turn to gas and his fingers light up the fire, this confused music forces his heart to clench.

“Tell our Dad I’m sorry!” Tyler shouts. He can’t stop. “I’m sorry, sorry, sorry!”

The sky is crying, its phantasmagorical hysteria never stops.

And Tyler pulls at the stitches in his eyebrow, they’re going to dissolve one day but he can’t wait for it, pulling them out, and out, and out until he feels blood on his fingertips.

“I’m sorry.”

Tyler never makes amends.

Tyler slams his palms against the keys, off rhythm and off the beat; he keeps screaming _sorry_ for _her_ to hear him out. For once. And she’s here, he feels her presence just like that day she made him bang his head against the kitchen sink.

“Stop.”

Tyler spits, fumbling with loose stitches; he gets up off his stool and runs to the door. He’s distanced from Josh recently, it was his own decision, but he knows how guilty and upset Josh feels. Tyler’s whole family thinks Josh was the one who hurt him, Tyler’s father still wants to call the police and find Josh’s fingerprints everywhere.

Tyler wants to ask Josh to come over, but he can’t do that. He’s being constantly watched by his own reflection, they don’t even have sex in Tyler’s bed anymore. And Tyler is missing it too, his hand doesn’t satisfy his needs anymore and his bathroom curtain is still too thin. He avoids looking at the mirror when he’s naked — sometimes, the body he sees there is not his own, it belongs to a sky-clad, young woman with long dark hair, with the eyes of pure madness — with _Tyler’s_ eyes. Tyler clamps his palm over his mouth then, the nightmare gets way too tangible.

Tyler chews the skin around his nails until it bleeds, salty and viscous on his tongue. His keys jiggle in his pocket as he runs out of his house, straight into the night, into the rain.

“Won’t you tell us of the clouds, Ruby?” Tyler looks up at a stormy sky. “Won’t you tell us?”

He screams until his voice gets hoarse, he stands on his front porch until his clothes get soaked but it’s not enough, he’s not clean, he will never be. Tyler’s soul has been dirty since his birth. He’s never seen Ruby’s gravestone, she is not his guardian angel anymore — she’s changing along with Tyler’s mental state, it’s getting worse.

Tyler is running, playing hide and seek with the streetlamps, he’s drowning in the puddles and his Vans are about to lose their soles. His shoelaces are wet and untied and Tyler trips over, falling onto the asphalt and hitting his knuckles against it until his blood is merged with water.

Again.

Rills run down the sidewalk, Tyler can’t find a single dry thread in his clothing, he’s not even trying. He sees two shadows, but he’s sure only one of them belongs to him, another one is shorter, with longer hair and with white holes where its eyes should be. It’s diving into the streams on the street, it’s singing _shada de da dum_ like a battle hymn. It’s mocking him again, it can push him and he’s gonna get smashed by the truck, like a bug on the grille.

Tyler is roaming the neighborhood, a lonely lunatic without a raincoat, he’s as sick as a stray dog. And he is indeed that dog as he knocks at the door, his second shadow is chasing him, and he yells —

“Josh! Josh, let me in, let me in!”

The darkness is thickening behind him, it’s about to swallow him and spit back his teeth and bones for his family to identify his corpse. The darkness is the Satan itself.

“Josh, please!”

Tyler falls into the hole, a different one, into a hole that is a doorframe, and Josh is so warm and dry and he smells like home.

“Tyler?”

The darkness takes a step back as Tyler takes a step forward.

“Hi, Josh.”

He’s afraid that Josh might have a doubled shadow as well.

Tyler’s hoodie and his pants smother him, wet fabric sticks to his body, and the worst of it is the sensation of his damp and cold socks on his feet, his toes ache.

Tyler’s shadow is locked outside.

“Why did you do that?”

Josh touches Tyler’s forehead. The bruise is still colorful and the scab on Tyler’s eyebrow is all flakey.

“I missed you,” Tyler coughs up.

Water gathers in Tyler’s lungs, a half of him consists of this terrible rain, his hair matted and his nose runny. And Josh lets him in and turns the kettle on. Tyler wraps his swollen fingers around the mug, breathing in the smell of a peppermint tea.

“Why didn’t you call? I’d pick you up.”

Josh gives Tyler his pajama pants, soft and baggy, and Tyler’s things are all dirty as he throws them into a laundry basket.

“I just couldn’t stay there,” Tyler says.

Josh doesn’t scold him even though Tyler can tell he wants to.

Josh has these butterfly bandages to fix Tyler’s brow.

They don’t have sex in _Tyler’s_ bedroom anymore, but Josh’s bedroom is a shabby castle, so the clothes Tyler’s been dressed in go off easily, the bed slides easily as Tyler grips against the headboard, almost begging Josh to tie him to it. He needs to severe his mental ties, too, but they’re just chains against his brain and not even Josh’s dick can make him forget about them.

There’s no naked ghosts.

But he’s still unprotected.

The only coverage is a blanket, and Tyler’s second shadow looks at him through the blinds, the lights are consumed and digested; Tyler closes his eyes tightly, until his eyelids hurt.

They’re not kissing, all the strings attached are way too ephemeral, Tyler is aware of it, he’s oblivious and Josh’s body on top of him makes him feel warmer, hot even. And when Josh’s breathing turns to a low groan, he says —

“Tomorrow’s a new day. Everything’s gonna get better.”

And Tyler believes him.

 

***

Josh jolts awake a huff, loud enough to jerk Tyler out of his sleep; he opens his eyes, he’s met by another gloomy morning. It’s Sunday and he hates Sundays even though he doesn’t have work on Monday. Neither does Josh.

“My spine hurts.”

Josh rolls away from Tyler, he’s lying on his stomach and Tyler’s jaw drops at the sight of five long scratches slicing a freckly skin on Josh’s back.

“What is this?”

“I had a bad dream.”

Josh sits up, both terrified and bewildered, and almost twists his neck to look behind himself. Blood seeps through the cuts, some of it is smeared down the sheets, and if Tyler hadn’t seen Josh’s intact skin the night before he’d say it was an act of cheating.

“What dream?”

Josh winces.

“It hurts like a bitch.”

“What dream, Josh?” Tyler is irritated.

“It was… it was something about the girl, but she kinda looked like you and her eyes were… ruby-red?”

Tyler almost falls off the bed.

Josh couldn’t find a better word to describe a _monster_.

Tyler whispers a prayer into his palms, still cold and smelling of peppermint and rain. Josh is still shaken by _Tyler’s curse_ bouncing off of him.

“It’s Ruby,” Tyler says. “She’s jealous.”

He can’t believe he’s voicing his thoughts.

And Josh asks a simple —

“What?”

And Tyler tells him a story about his birth, followed by his parents’ grief and depression; he tells him about his games, about his imaginary friend Ruby who turned out to be his stillborn twin sister.

Josh listens, that’s all Tyler needs; Josh’s back is like a lined paper, and Tyler’s mind keeps spelling crazy words — the first death in his family was a warning, because Tyler has made a mistake, he has begun to forget _his Ruby_ and now she’s mad, she doesn’t probably even understand what she’s doing.

She’s never been evil.

Until now.

 

***

There should be something that holds them together; Tyler is eager to find it out. He doesn’t share his plans with Josh this time, coming to his parents instead. Tyler is a digger and this mystery is a bloody gold. Privilege granted, he can rip off the curtain of this nightmare to reveal yet another part of drama.

“Hello, son.”

It’s just their family evening, neither of Tyler’s siblings are there. Except Jay. Jay pulls away from Tyler as if he’s a madman, he never misses a chance to point out how _weird_  Tyler actually is. They’re sitting in the kitchen, lit up with a meager light, eating broccoli just because Tyler has never been into a healthy food. It’s one of his punishments.

And there’s nothing behind their _hellos_.

They don’t talk that much; Tyler’s parents don’t have any lectures to give. Tyler hopes he’s not the one who’s ruining his own family, he’d prefer to never be born.

“You can go to your room now.”

They’ve always been cold towards him, it’s taken a lot of time for Tyler to figure out what he’s done. His room is empty, there’s only one bed, and Tyler lays down onto it; his parents didn’t want him to come, but they’re happy that he hasn’t taken Josh with him. The night is calling and Tyler tip-toes to the door like a teenager who wants to sneak out for a date.

In fact, Tyler doesn’t go to dates.

He steps carefully, not to let the floor out him, it doesn’t creak, everything goes quite well. Tyler uses a flashlight on his phone to find a ladder in the corner; he climbs up, he wants to get into the attic — his parents don’t hide the key anymore even though this attic was a forbidden place for Tyler when he was a kid. There’s the dust everywhere, the house is about to crumble down from the force of Tyler’s sneezing. Is has always been a big mystery, but now his parents want him to know the truth. They want him to know why there’s been so much pent-up hate.

“Please, lead me to the Promised Land,” Tyler wipes his nose on his sleeve; it’s dark, but he lets his eyes adjust to his surroundings. There’s a lot of trash and Tyler stumbles over the boxes, feeling like a vandal.

If his parents catch him here, he’s gonna get _a lot of_ problems.

This place looks almost peaceful.

And Tyler begins to rummage in the boxes, finding his old toys and photographs — feelings swirl around him like a cocoon of a warm nostalgia. But then, there is _something_ that doesn’t belong to him, but it might still hurt his family — tiny pink clothes, pink baby wrappers and a bunch of pink towels.   

Tyler’s eyes burn, there’s the spike in his sternum.

They’d never know they will never dress their baby girl in these pretty dresses and tiny baby’s bootees. When Tyler was a kid, his favorite toy was a blue rabbit with funny long ears, his name was Jason and Tyler couldn’t spend a night without hugging him. Jason was protecting him from shadow people.

And now Tyler’s hands are clutching Jason’s twin, a pink rabbit with bow-knots on her ears. Tyler cradles the rabbit to his chest as if it’s Jason, but he doesn’t feel calm; it was supposed to be Ruby’s toy, Ruby’s guardian to Dreamland.

The toy gets hotter, burning Tyler’s skin and he throws it away in fright; he’s sitting on the floor, the air around him is cold, but a pink rabbit is a fire itself.

“Shada de da dum.”

This time, this line doesn’t sound in only Tyler’s head. These words have a form, and Tyler whips around to see where they are coming from. He knows it already, but it never stops shocking him — here she is, standing in the corner in her light dress and with her hair covering a half of her face.

“Come with me,” she rustles out. “You want it.”

Tyler doesn’t want anything.

“You’re not real, you’re dead, you’re dead, you’re dead!”

Tyler doesn’t notice he’s screaming, screeching and raising his hands up to cover his eyes, but he can’t.

“You took my place, Tyler. And you’ve _replaced_ me.”

Tyler can’t stand it, he doesn’t even understand why his parents didn’t sell her clothes she never wore.

And Ruby reads his thoughts, it’s an open confrontation.

“Look at the box, Tyler, look into it.”

And the box slides across the dusty floor, stopping right in front of Tyler. Tyler is almost sure she has killed a cat or another poor animal just to intimidate him; but when Tyler crouches down and unpacks the box, he only finds a baby cot there.

“See? I wanted to sleep there, not in my tiny coffin.”

If the ghosts can cry, then Ruby is one of them.

“You thought I never existed.”

“You were my best friend,” Tyler starts carefully, not to show her his fear.

“You’ve betrayed me.”

Tyler’s life is a betrayal.

Ruby grits her sharp teeth.

She’s an angel fallen down; down and down, too deep — into the depths of Hell just to arise and capture Tyler’s soul.

“Perform the ritual, Tyler.”

She’s getting closer, her human traits get distorted by anger.

And Tyler is weaponless.

“No.”

“Your family members will die one by one,” Ruby syllables. “One by one, Tyler. Do you wanna know whom I’m gonna start with?”

Baby cot rocks on the floor, back and forth, lulling a ghost child to sleep. Back and forth, back and forth — Ruby puts a pink rabbit inside, onto a pink lacy pillow. Then she twists the toy’s head.

“There are too many baby girls.”

Ruby’s legs are wobbling, she’s walking with a hunch with one of her shoulders higher than another, so typical for a j-horror and Tyler is just a motionless prey.

“You know how to separate us, Tyler.”

“Ruby,” Tyler calls her by her name for the first time. “ _Sister_ , what have you done? What the fuck have you done to my life?!” he screams until his throat is full of sand.

And there’s a real glass smashed as the tree branch punctures the side window of the attic, like a gnarled arm and Tyler turns away, letting small diamonds of the shatters scatter down his back.

“You know what to do.”

She’s not his little angel anymore, she needs a sacrifice.

The rain never stops, bang-bang-banging against the rooftop and spilling into the hole, a stream of water is violent, the storm is violent too. Tyler’s hoodie becomes his straightjacket, chaining his moves, all of them are too sudden and jerky.

“You’ve created me like this, a little girl just to play with; hiding in the forest among the trees, you’re not immortal, but the death is.”

Tyler is shaking, crawling to the open window, unsure if one jump ahead would end his agony.

Ruby keeps singing her song, the song Tyler once wrote and the air is too thin, and breathing is too impossible as he becomes a part of this vortex. Ruby is just a cheap hologram and Tyler was just born with a PTSD and an overwhelming feeling of guilt.

“You won’t stop me, _brother_.”

Tyler’s loved ones are about to die, his counterpart craves for his dirty blood, dirty guts.

“You won’t stop me too.”

He’s swearing, and the clouds above him are singing —

“Shada de da dum.”

A gunshot of a thunderstorm tears the night apart.

 

***

The coffin is closed.

It’s like a vacuum-sealed package, because its contents are too ugly.

Tyler’s parents are crying like grieving marble statues, Josh’s eyes are wet as well — he’s dressed in a suit that could be fitting for a wedding-look, his hair is like an open wound. Too cheerful for a _tragedy_. This day is so shamelessly sunny, joyful rays of light jump all over a polished coffin lid.

Josh gets paler within every second; he’s an impostor for the Josephs, like a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Tyler rubs Josh’s shoulder, Tyler’s mustard hoodie can’t express his condolence; he closes his eyes and leans against the tree as the pastor’s speech is coming to an end.

“Rest in peace.”

Tyler can’t stand the rest of the ceremony; he quickly excuses himself and hurries away from the cemetery. The bones are gonna get exterminated without his presence.

He wanders down the streets, he needs to find the one whose life he’s saved and ruined at the same time — Maddy and her fiancé couldn’t be there because of Maddy’s _condition_ ; she shouldn’t worry herself, her Doctor said. She shouldn’t try to control everything, and Tyler has a right to enter her bedroom in silence. Maddy’s sitting on her bed, not even braiding her hair anymore, she starts wearing loose dresses even though it’s way too early. Maddy’s cross-stitching, it’s a bad sign, but she’s working on the alphabet, each letter belongs to a certain family member.

Tyler stands behind, hearing her mumble —

_R is for Ruby whose birth was a mist,_

_T is for Tyler who couldn’t resist._

_M is for Maddy who’s going insane,_

_B is for Babies who don’t have the names._

She’s pregnant with twins, with two baby girls — Tyler knows it before their gender reveal party happens. Maddy rubs her belly, almost dropping the needle when Tyler accidentally pushes their framed family photo off the bedside table.

“Who’s there?”

Maddy’s eyes go round, half amazed and half scared as she looks _right through_ Tyler.

She looks right through him just like that bullet that flew right through his skull in the attic of their parents’ house. Tyler doesn’t feel the pain anymore, but he still remembers a metal taste of the barrel of his father’s rifle in his mouth, he remembers his bloody drool rolling down his chin, his scraped gums.

It felt hot, the flash was as white as a lightning, and then he saw his body on the floor, he’d throw up at the sight of his mutilated brain on the wall if he only could. The lack of physiological reflexes was the first disturbing symptom.

Tyler and Ruby had such a strong connection that only Tyler’s first death could kill her for the second time. He can only hope that his nieces aren’t going to be as sensitive to any paranormal activities as he is. He’s praying for his family members to finally stop hating him when he’s finally paid for all of their sins. He’s going to protect them. But when he’s about to dive into a peaceful inexistence, he hears a familiar —

“Shada de da dum, Tyler.”

**Author's Note:**

> happy Halloween!!  
> \--  
> [art](http://searein.tumblr.com/post/180039956457/shada-de-da-dum-inspired-by-promised-land) by searein


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